


The Wonder of Purple Summer

by Gemfyre



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: F/M, Nudity, Suicide, inconvenient hard-ons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:53:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemfyre/pseuds/Gemfyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moritz says yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wonder of Purple Summer

**Author's Note:**

> It's a bit tropetastic, but I desperately needed a happier ending for Moritz and Wendla. Which meant an ending where they both live.

“Scrap heap? Ilse! Yes... Maybe I could walk with you for a little while, just let me pick up my satchel.” Moritz dashed to the tree where he had stashed his gear, gingerly picking up the gun and slipping it into the bag.  
“Is that a gun!?” Ilse had crept up behind him. Again. Moritz jumped.  
“I... I'm going to shoot myself.”  
“Why?”  
“I... failed my finals. My father beat me and threw me out and Frau Gabor says she can't afford to fund a ticket to America. Where else is there to go?” Isle looked stern, a curious expression on her childlike face. He was only now realising, she was dressed in nothing but an oversized white shirt with a few paint spots and stocking feet, she must be freezing. He spied her nipples pushing against the thin cotton and quickly raised his eyes to her hair when he felt that bothersome stab of heat to his groin. Her hair was red, and short. It used to be long and braided when they were children, he remembered her favourite ribbons were green.  
“We are going back to my house, it's not too far. You can sleep there, where it's warm.”  
“Ilse, I _can't_ sleep. Ever. Demons come to me.” But she was already tugging on his hand and dragging him along. He had no choice but to follow. It was no matter, now or later, he would paint the ground with his brains.

They stumbled into the kitchen at Priapia. Two men were sitting at the table, playing cards and drinking beer and discussing, it sounded like charcoal. They looked up in surprise and a smile spread over the face of one.  
“Ilse...” he began, as she continued to drag Moritz away and towards the door at the far end of the room.  
“Not now Gustav! We need some time alone.” Gustav's smile grew even wider, and he winked at Moritz as Ilse shoved him through the door. Moritz returned the wink with a startled expression. Ilse closed the door and locked the latch, then strode over to the large windows overlooking a grassed courtyard and closed the curtains with a violent tug. Moritz looked over the room, it was much larger than his own bedroom, with a double bed in the center with a garish green and blue quilt over it. A large wardrobe stood at the far side of the room, an easel near the window, and there were side tables of dark wood on each side of the bed. His gaze eventually returned to Ilse, who was standing at the foot of the bed, fists balled at her sides, biting her lip, seeming almost in tears.  
“I should slap you!” She cried. Moritz cringed. For some odd reason, the thought of being slapped by Ilse didn't induce so much terror in him as excitement... oh God what was _wrong_ with him?  
“Wh.. why are you angry with me Ilse?”  
“You were going to shoot yourself! That's why you didn't want to walk with me?” He didn't know what to say. He had decided suicide could wait a while, what more could she want from him? He dumped the satchel on the floor and sat down on the bed, staring at the far wall, not daring to look at Ilse. He didn't move when she silently stepped around the bed and opened his satchel, removing the pistol and holding it carefully.  
“What's this?” Moritz finally turned to see her pulling a familiar paper out of the bag.  
“No!” Ilse danced away from his grabbing hands, placing the gun on the floor near the door and straightening the damnable essay.  
“Oh, these pictures are fascinating!”  
“It's not something a girl your age should be reading. It's sinful.” Ilse stood straight and read out the title.  
“ _The Art of Sleeping With_. Oh I don't think there will be much for me to learn here...” Moritz just stared at her with a mixture of shock and hopelessness. He should have said no, should have just blown his blasted head off when the opportunity was ripe. Ilse scanned the pages, a smirk growing on her face. “Who wrote this... filth? Not you obviously.” She wasn't angry any more, she was smiling. He didn't understand.  
“I can't tell you.”  
“It was that Melchi Gabor wasn't it? He's the type to compose something like this. But why would he give it to you?”  
“I can't talk about it.”  
“I'm making you talk about it.” She was staring at him, wide eyed, almost... predatory. “What would your parents say if they saw this?” Moritz shot to his feet, trying to grab the essay again but Ilse danced out of his reach again. “Oh calm down, I would never tell them. Anyway, what do anyone's parents have to do with me, even my own? But why would Melchior give this to you?” Moritz sank back down. It was like being interrogated, but the interrogator in this instance seemed to be having a merry time teasing him, instead of threatening to put him in front of a firing squad. What good was lying? Or denying? She would have the truth from him one way or another he was sure.  
“I asked him to write it for me," he blurted, "I thought it would be easier than him just telling me. But it just made everything worse. The demons in my dreams are worse than ever! I think I need an exorcism." He could not understand the expression on Ilse's face. Caught somewhere between utter amusement, pity, sadness. She sat down next to him. _Right_ next to him. Her bare thigh pressing against his own. She grabbed his hand and placed it high on her leg.  
"I think I know how to perform an exorcism." She said, voice soft and low. Her skin felt like a burning brand against his hand, he couldn't stop shuddering, and suddenly his trousers were altogether too tight. He let out an odd sound, half squeak-half groan. Right now to him she looked like a succubus from his dreams, come to life.  
"Melchior says it's natural. It's part of growing up. But how can this be natural? Is it some test of our faith? Well I can tell you right now that I am failing just as badly as I failed in school because of it!" Despite his earlier promise that he would never cry again, he could feel tears stinging at his eyes. What had he done to God that he was being punished so? Melchi had obviously failed this test as well, but now he didn't believe in God at _all_ , and he seemed pretty okay with that. Nothing made sense anymore. He finally looked up at Ilse to find her staring at him with gentle eyes, grey eyes. She placed his hand back in his own lap and let go of it. Cupping his face in her own hands.  
"Oh Moritz." Was all she said, before standing and making her way towards the door. "See if you can get some sleep. Please. It's warm here, and I'll bring you breakfast in the morning." She bent down and picked up the pistol, the shirt riding up her back, revealing a glimpse of blue knickers beneath. Moritz's breath caught in his throat, but then she opened the door and was gone.

He did as he was told, removing shoes, socks, trousers and vest and folding them neatly on a chair before sliding under the covers. The bed smelled a little odd, but it was comfortable enough, and warm. He squirmed for a while until the days events caught up with him and he realised he was utterly exhausted. And he slept for a change.


End file.
